A Wish Upon a Star
by itsravensfault
Summary: Sherlock and John fight Sherlock wishes that they never met. An angel comes and shows Sherlock what it would be like if the two didn't meet. Sherlock/John established relationship characters may be oc sorry for that and not all parts will be the same.


**Okay so I edited this so it had more of the stuff in it that I forgot about. When I was writing it I was really tired and could barely see straight. So here is hopefully a better version.**

Sherlock Holmes sat on the sofa annoyed with the blond man yelling at him. He heard the speech before. 'Don't do this blah, blah, blah. Don't do that blah, blah, blah.' He was growing tired of it.

John stopped pacing and stared at the miffed detective. "Sherlock was you did was wrong," he said again throwing his arms up in the air. "You could have got us all killed, all because you wanted to get a closer look." John stared at him with an unwavering glare.

"Sorry," Sherlock shot at him sarcastically.

John shook his head with disappointment. "When bomb squad tells you not to go near a place that could have a bomb you obey them. You don't completely ignore them…like you're doing with me right now," he growled and grabbed at the genius's shoulders. "Dang it Sherlock can't you just listen for once?"

Sherlock scoffed and pulled himself away from the other's grip.

John laughed and sat down in his chair. He should have known he wouldn't get anywhere with him. "Do you know what I wish?" he asked. "I wish…"

"That we never met," Sherlock finished for him.

John stopped what he was saying and let his mouth hang open. He couldn't understand why he would say that. The words stung. He felt a wave of anger fall over him. He stood abruptly and stomped to the door. He was going out for a bit of air so he didn't have to deal with the insufferable man-child.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked as he watched John make his way down the stairs.

"I don't need to tell you!" John yelled.

He walked by Mrs. Hudson who looked scared. "What's wrong?" she asked in her best soothing tone.

John didn't answer as he yanked open the door and slammed it behind him.

Sherlock clenched his fist. He knew he messed that up. He would just have to let John breath out his anger and hope he would return in the morning. He wrapped himself up in his dressing gown and curled up into a ball on the couch.

He was about to drift into sleep when a loud noise came from the kitchen. He turned to see a man standing in his kitchen. What was weird about this man though was the fact that he had wings coming out of his shoulder blades.

Sherlock slowly got up and walked towards him. He leaned himself up against the door frame with his arms across his chest. He was trying to look indifferent to the situation but he had a feeling he wasn't pulling it off. "Who are you?" he asked but added, "More importantly what are you?"

The man jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice and turned on the spot. "You were supposed to be asleep," he told him with a frown.

"I was almost asleep but you woke me up now answer my question," Sherlock demanded.

"Man, I always get this wrong," he mumbled to himself. "You see I'm new at this. It's like my second job."

Sherlock sighed angrily. Too many people were out to annoy him. "Tell me what you are," he ordered in a lower voice.

The man looked surprised. He checked his trouser pockets for a something and lit up when he found it. He pulled out a white card with golden letters written perfectly on it. "I am Bob," he said proudly. "I'm your "angel" for today. I heard that you made a wish that you never met someone."

"Well I never did say the words I wish," he shrugged. "But you're right I did wish it."

"Well I'm here to show you what it would be like if you never met them," Bob said.

"Dull," Sherlock sighed.

Bob frowned and said, "I'm sorry it's dull but whether you like it or not I have to do this."

Sherlock shrugged again and smiled. "I guess you can do it," he told him. "It's better than me just hanging around here being bored."

Bob cheered and grabbed the back of Sherlock's arm. "Come on Mr. Holmes we need to go see what would have happened if you never met John," he stated happily and they flew out of the wall.

-  
><em><br>Sherlock looked at the crowd. He looked to Bob you was smiling down at the mass of people below them. "Do you know where we are Mr. Holmes?" he asked._

"_This is where Mike talks to John about the flat share," Sherlock answered simply._

_Bob was extremely happy, he almost started laughing uncontrollably but composed himself. "Well this is going to be different," he said barely above a whisper._

John Watson limped down the pathway of the park. He really needed to get out more. The lonely flat was getting too much for him. He needed to have something to stimulate him and get him active. The problem was he couldn't. His leg and shoulder stopped him from doing almost anything entertaining. It killed him to know that he may never be the same again; he was going to miss the excitement the thrill of war. That scared him though, how could he have missed the war. The same war that killed hundreds every day, the same war that injured him and sent him home. He shouldn't have missed it, it was just wrong.

He heard his name being called off in the distance but decided to ignore it. He wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone from his past. They just reminded him of something that was long gone.

When John finally reached the shop he was in a lot of pain. His leg was killing him and he didn't want to think about the trek back to his home with a cane and several bags of food straining his injured shoulder.

Emerging from the store with a couple of bags on one arm he contemplated hailing a taxi. He wasn't sure if he had enough money for a cab and if he did he wasn't sure if he would have enough to pay the bill afterwards.

The small throb in his shoulder from holding so many bags in one hand pushed him onto the side of hailing the cab. He shifted his weight so it was off his bad leg and waved for a cab. A few passed by without much of a second glance, one finally stopped for him and he clambered in.

John looked at the old man who looked friend and smiled. He gave him the address he of his home and sat back in the comfy seat. He shut his eyes and gave a sigh of relief as he was finally off his bad leg.

"Long day?" the cabbie asked from the front seat. If John had his eyes open he would have seen the wicked glint in the other's eye.

"You have no idea," John mumbled.

_Bob frowned at Sherlock who was staring into the window of the cab. "Something wrong Mr. Holmes?" he asked. Of course he knew what was wrong he was given the whole situation before hand._

"_That's the serial killer," Sherlock muttered. He let his head thump against the cold window. "John you're so stupid for getting into this cab."_

"_Well he doesn't know that," Bob told him placing his hand on his shoulder. "He doesn't know what's coming to him yet."_

_Sherlock turned to him with wide eyes. "You don't mean he's…" he trailed off. He didn't want to finish the sentence. _

_Bob shrugged his shoulders. "Let's see how it plays out."_

_Sherlock looked around him, he was back in 221 B Baker Street, except before John and him moved in officially. "Are we going to watch me now?" he asked as he glanced around. _

_Bob nodded as he sat down on the couch. He dropped his feet on the coffee table and relaxed. "We are your audience today Mr. Holmes," he said gleefully._

"_This should be fun," Sherlock muttered as he sat down next to the angel._

Sherlock bounded into the room. He sighed and started moving things about. "Mrs. Hudson," he hollered to the landlady.

"Yes dear?" she asked already in the room.

Sherlock turned to her and smiled. "Looks like I might not be getting a flat mate," he told her.

Mrs. Hudson frowned. She loved Sherlock like he was her own son, hearing that he would live alone hurt her. "You just have to keep looking." She shot him a reassuring smile. She then picked up the day's newspaper and look over it. "What about these suicides?" she asked. "All three the same that seems like it would be fun."

"Four," Sherlock mumbled

"_This is where Lestrade comes up with the new suicide that had a note. That extremely pink lady, what was her name again?" Sherlock looked to the angel for help but he just shrugged his shoulders. "Jennifer Wilson!" he announce triumphantly._

"Sherlock," Lestrade huffed as he made it to the top of the stairs.

"What's different?" Sherlock asked getting straight to the point.

"This one left a note," Lestrade told him. "We're going to need your help on this one."

Sherlock nodded and told him he would follow behind him in a cab. Lestrade smiled hopefully he told him the address and left to return to the crime scene.

Once the detective was out of the flat Sherlock jumped with joy. "Oh this is going to be good," he said to joyful for talking about "suicide". "Mrs. Hudson I'll be out late if you don't mind fixing me up something."

"I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson haltered down to the energetic young man.

"Something cold will do," he shouted back up to her and quickly left.

"_Well that's a bit different from what I remember," Sherlock stated as Bob stood up and stretched his wings. _

"_Doctor Watson influenced you from the beginning whether you knew it or not," Bob told him._

_Sherlock had a gut feeling that this wasn't going to turn out so well._

_-  
><em>_  
>Sherlock had gotten used to flying through the walls. After the first time of feeling like you were going to end up with a concussion the initial shock cooled down. He was now sitting on an uncomfortable bed watching John talk with Jeff the cabbie. It made his blood run cold. He didn't want to know what was going to happen next but he already knew.<em>

_For once Bob didn't have a comment. He just sat next to Sherlock and stared at his emotional face. He knew this was hard to see the man that you truly love face a killer._

John sat on the chair at his desk. The cabbie that led him into his home at gunpoint had just placed a second bottle with pills in it on the table. He glanced from the bottle up to the old man. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

Jeff smiled. He looked to friendly to be a serial killer. "First you get to choose a bottle. Whatever bottle you choose you have to take that pill, the bottle that you don't choose I have to take a pill from that bottle," he explained.

John nodded and eyed the bottles. "Ones poisoned and the other isn't right?" he asked. Jeff nodded and leaned forward. "What if I don't take either?"

Jeff pulled out his gun again. "Then I shoot you," he answered smoothly.

John nodded again and picked up a bottle. "So a fifty-fifty chance that I survive this," he mumbled to himself. He thought about it for a second. Was he willing to go on those odds? Did he really have anything to live for? There was Harry, but they were never going to be close. She had tried and failed to form a bond with him. His parents were dead and no other family to think about. He figured he would be happy on both outcomes. If he didn't die then he would be able to live on another day and try to make things better, or just end it all now and save himself the agony.

_Sherlock stared at the blond. He shouldn't be thinking about this. He should have known the gun was a fake and already be on his way out. John was smarter than that. "Come on John you know what to do," he willed the other fruitlessly. "Don't take the stupid pill."_

"Well Mr. Hope," John started. "Are you sure they're both not poisoned?"

Jeff laughed. "Doctor Watson I'm absolutely sure," he told him.

"_John!" Sherlock yelled lunging toward the other but was pulled into the blackness that came when they were changing scenes._

_-  
><em>_  
>Bob pulled the struggling Sherlock into the building so he could see what was going to happen next. <em>

"_I want my John back," Sherlock yelled. "He's not stupid enough to take that pill."_

_Bob touched his shoulder and Sherlock turned around. His breath caught in his throat at his eyes landed on the body on the floor._

"Blokes name was John Watson," Lestrade stated as he entered the crime scene. "He probably didn't even know what was coming to him," he said sadly as he looked at the bag of groceries sitting on the bed. He felt bad for the man.

Sherlock Holmes swept into the room with a dramatic twirl of his long coat. He glanced at the dull room taking everything in before he knelt down the body lying on the ground. Next to the head were numbers and letters scrawled in bloody handwriting. 'OVD4PYC' it read. He lifted up his hand to see a gash covering his palm. The knife that the blond man used to cut his hand open was next to his left hand.

"Anything yet?" Lestrade asked from the door frame.

Sherlock sighed and stood up. "Average male, late thirties, invalid home from either Afghanistan or Iraq, nothing more," he told him. "I think I know what he was trying to write though."

"Our code breaking team is working on it right now," Anderson said from behind Lestrade.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shut the door in his face. "It's definitely not a code," he said smoothly. He pulled out his cell phone and started texting the one person he didn't want to rely on.

"What is it then?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock briefly looked up from his phone so he could take in the Detective Inspectors expression. "A license plate number. Most likely the killers." Sherlock looked down at the body again and frowned. The man looked like he was a good man, one that never did wrong. He hurt himself to the police could trace the killer and stop him from killing more people. He was definitely someone that he held high respect for even if he would have mocked him for caring so much.

_Sherlock dragged his eyes away from his dead lover and up to himself. He looked cold, and unmoved by the whole event. He felt sick to his stomach. He never could believe he would look at John's cold body and not even care even if he never knew him. He walked close up to the other Holmes's ear and whispered harshly, "You catch this man and you kill him."_

Sherlock felt a sudden chill run over him. He took one more glance down at body and felt a strange attachment to it. He bent down again and looked at the deep blue eyes that lost all life. They practically shouted at him. They told him that the man they once saw for was brave and loving. He was troubled, he needed more excitement in his life, and he needed to laugh more. 'The eyes of a dead man,' he thought to himself, 'they can tell everything about them.' He shook himself free of the trance he was put in. He needed to pay attention to the case and not John Watson.

His mobile buzzed in his hands and he looked at the message his brother sent him. He smiled and pocketed the object. "I'll be off Lestrade," he said before he swaggered from the dreary room.

"_How can I be like that?" Sherlock asked the angel._

_Bob lightly touched the other's hand. "Come on we have one more place to go," he told him and pulled him out of the open window._

_-  
><em>_  
>Sherlock didn't want to be here. He wanted to home, with John. He wanted John to yell at him, tell him that he was an idiot. Because he truly was, he knew that. He didn't like this world one bit, the one where John was dead and could never tell him that he needed a break from his constantly moving life. Bob frowned at him. He knew how hard it was for the other. "It will all be over soon," he reassured.<em>

_Sherlock looked down at his feet. They were already halfway through his meeting with Jefferson Hope. He didn't want to watch any more of it._

Sherlock stared at the old cabbie across from him. He felt something in the pit of his stomach that told him he should kill the man. It wasn't the fact that he killed four people, no, that didn't matter. Sherlock was just about the chase the victims were just clues that were the base of the puzzle. He wasn't sure why he wanted to see this man suffer.

"So Mr. Holmes," Jeff said. "Which bottle do you choose?" he asked.

Sherlock smirked. This was child's play. He knew exactly what bottle was the good bottle and which one was the bad one. "I think you know as well as I do that I will choose the right one," he told him confidence radiating off him.

Jeff laughed and spread his hands out. "Then take the bottle Mr. Holmes," he said cheerily. "I think it might surprise you."

Sherlock grabbed the right bottle and opened it with ease. He dropped the pill in his hand and brought it up to his mouth. "Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Hope," he told him and swallowed the pill in one swift movement.

"Sorry to tell you this," Jeff said, "but they're both poisoned."

Sherlock went pale. He should have thought of that. Of course the other man wasn't going to take the other pill. He wanted to get as much money for his kids as possible. He wouldn't just end him life. He wasn't ready to die though, he felt something missing. Something very important and it was haunting "Well then," Sherlock said feeling dizzy. "You got me there." He fell to the ground and gasped for air. He reached out his hand to grab onto the cabbie but only got thin air. He needed to do something in his last moments.

As a last attempt to grab the murder Sherlock grabbed onto his pants leg. He yanked harshly on it with all his might and the old man came tumbling down. After Sherlock heard a sickening crack he let himself fall onto his back. He did what he needed to do, he stopped a murderer.

_Sherlock watched as his other self fell to the floor. He knew why he died. He didn't have John to protect him. "I want to go home," he said. He didn't want to watch himself convulse violently._

Lestrade entered the room gun aimed and ready. He dropped it to his side though as he saw the cab driver bleeding out and Sherlock lying still on the ground. He lowered himself to Sherlock's side and checked his pulse. He let his hand drop and a frown to overtake his features. He took out his phone intent on calling Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, to tell him the news.

The phone rang a few times before it was answered. "I know," the other voice said. It sounded too calm and collected.

Lestrade shook his head trying to rid the tears. He lost a friend and it hit him hard. "Sorry," he choked out. He heard a muffled answer on the other end and didn't say anything else. He didn't hang up as he listened to the other man try and pull himself together.

_Bob smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly._

_-  
><em>  
>They were back at the flat. This time in present day where everything felt right. Bob was standing in kitchen again near the sink where Sherlock found him. "So Mr. Holmes," he said faintly, "which do you choose? A life with Doctor Watson or without him?"<p>

Sherlock looked at him and took in a few deep breaths. "Aren't you supposed to tell me that I have to live with my wish forever?" he asked.

Bob shrugged. "Like I told you I'm new to this," he told him. "I mess up sometimes and don't finalize the wish. So which is it, Doctor Watson or no Doctor Watson?"

Sherlock looked at him and for once showed all his emotions. He was trying to tell the man without using the words.

The angel nodded. "Very well," Bob sighed and disappeared.

Sherlock was frozen to his spot staring at the place the angel was just standing in. He shook himself free and ran to the stairs. He had to get John back and apologize. He loved him too much to let him go so easily.

He rushed down the stairs and ripped open the front door. He ran down the stairs and on to the sidewalk wearing his dressing gown and no shoes. He looked around frantically. He had no clue where John could have gone.

"Sherlock?" John questioned from his spot on the stairs.

"I thought you left," he stated frantically.

John shook his head and looked down at Sherlock's bare feet. He smiled and glanced back up. "I didn't want to go far," he told him.

Sherlock felt his heart pounding in his chest. The memory of John lying unmoving on the floor was still fresh. He grabbed John by the jumper and pulled him up in his arms. He buried his head into the shorter man's chest and cried. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I never meant what I said about wishing that I never met you."

John ran his fingers through curls on the detective's head and shushed him. "I know Sherlock," he told him. "I know." He didn't know what was wrong or what made Sherlock act like that but that didn't matter. John would probably find out later but right now Sherlock was crying and shaking in his arms. He was scared and John wanted to help.

Sherlock looked up at him and wiped away his tears. "I love you," he told him.

"I love you too."


End file.
